


Afterthoughts of the Survivors

by CatKing_Catkin



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Angst, Canon Lesbian Character, Canon Lesbian Relationship, Canonical Character Death, Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode: s05e16 The Body, Episodic Fic, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-12
Updated: 2012-11-26
Packaged: 2017-11-18 11:48:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 8,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/560739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CatKing_Catkin/pseuds/CatKing_Catkin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of eight sequential fics, each one from the point of view of one of the characters in "The Body". A look at how each one copes with the events, how they deal and pull themselves back together and move on. Some of the Scoobies reach out for help, or to help others. Some pull further in on themselves than ever. And one of the most traumatic events in Buffy's life turns out to set the stage for yet more tragedy to come.</p>
<p>In order, the fics are:<br/>1. Dawn<br/>2. Willow<br/>3. Xander<br/>4. Anya<br/>5. Tara<br/>6. Spike<br/>7. Giles<br/>8. Buffy</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Dawn

_Not_

_She wasn't my mother,_ Dawn thought fiercely, as she sat on the bus with Buffy on their way to the…

The…

Dawn refused even to think the word.

_She wasn't my mother. I'm not going to cry, because she wasn't my mother._

Her head was spinning and her throat was dry and her eyes were stinging and she knew she'd melted down in front of half the school, but…that had only been surprise, because Joyce Summers had not been her mother. Just like Buffy was not her sister, and Dawn did not… _would not_ feel sad about this woman she hadn't even really been related to, in a technical sense.

Her mother had been…

Dawn swallowed. _Had been_. She was thinking in terms of past tense. Past tense. Barely ten minutes after being told the news

Her mother _had been_ …

…lame. But she hadn't tried to deny the fact and be "cool" like a lot of her student's parents. She'd embraced the fact that she was lame, laughed about it, made jokes about it.

And that, in its own strange and freakish way, had made her cool.

_But she wasn't my mother._

Dawn hugged her shoulders, and swallowed painfully as she stared at the ratty bus carpeting.

Her mother had also been so sweet, so gentle, that Dawn had sometimes joked that she was a robot, like her psycho ex-boyfriend Ted. But that, too, had merely earned her a pat on the head or a kiss on the cheek.

Dawn tried to stop thinking, because Joyce Summers had not really been her mother. She would not shed tears in front of all these people…in front of her not-actual-sister, who looked like she'd shatter if someone said the wrong thing…for a dead woman who was not her real mother.

Dawn Summers herself had not existed until not even a year ago, and all those sad and angry and happy memories she had were fake, and Joyce Summers was not her real mother and so she wasn't going to cry about this.

But she cast a sideways look at her not-actual-sister, who was twisting her fingers in her lap and chewing her lip so hard that a trickle of blood was running down her cheek and it was going to stain her favorite skirt.

Without thinking, she reached over and wiped it away. Buffy jumped in surprise, and Dawn recoiled.

"Sorry," she said grumpily, wiping the sticky red substance off on the seat.

Buffy wiped at her eyes, but said nothing. Dawn watched her, just as silently.

She supposed that this girl who was not really her sister could probably use someone to be strong. So, to show how strong she was, Dawn scooted a little closer and put one of her hand's on Buffy's.

Buffy, in return, squeezed it so tightly that Dawn winced. Buffy immediately pulled away.

"S-Sorry…" she stammered, and her voice was weak and faint. They sat in silence, a good six inches separating them, until…

"I…I did the same thing to Mom…" Buffy said, rapidly losing what little strength she had left. "I…I was trying…trying to make her breathe…and…it just went _crack_ , and I didn't mean for it to break, and I'm a freak who couldn't even save her own mother, and…"

And now her not-actual-sister was sobbing there, for all the world to see. And Dawn decided that it was time to do her not-actual-sisterly duty, so she scooted closer again and put her arms around Buffy. And Buffy hugged her back, because her not-actual-sister was clearly losing all ability to keep it together. But Dawn could keep it together, because Joyce Summers had not been…

And suddenly she was sobbing too, sobbing as the past tense reared its ugly head. And as she sobbed she was forced to admit that Joyce Summers _had been_ her mother, and Dawn _had been_ her ungrateful, bratty daughter.

And now, _here and now_ , it was too late to do anything about it. Too late to apologize for the stolen cookies or mud all over the floor or the loud music or the school forms hidden conscientiously under the cushions on the couch. Too late to apologize for not noticing what an awesome mother her mother had been. Too late to do anything but hold her sister and cry until she felt she couldn't breathe, as the bus rumbled on its way to the morgue.


	2. Willow

_Past Tense Wishes_

Willow had often wished she had a mother like Joyce. A mother who could have a daughter that was a little…strange. Like, say, a Vampire Slayer. Or maybe a witch. A mother that didn't try to psychoanalyze things and would instead try to understand them. And, hey, a mother who could look at her daughter going out with a broadsword clutched expertly at one hand and say, as if she were going to the Bronze: "Be back before it gets too late."

And Joyce hadn't been a one-daughter mother. No, she'd been free with the good advice and the maybe-some-hot-chocolate-will-make-it-better attitude. It had been Joyce who had done Willow's hair on the night Oz took her out on one of Willow's very first normal boyfriend-girlfriend dates. It had been Joyce who had sat there patiently while both Cordelia and Xander vented their feelings about the other after they'd broken up, patient and attentive enough to put any ordinary mom to shame. It had been Joyce who'd looked after Oz in the book cage when those three Polgara demon had been destroying the supermarket and they all had to go take it down. Hell, it had been Joyce who'd once hit Spike across the head with a fire ax before he could bite Buffy!

It had been Joyce that Willow wanted as a mother. She would have given anything to be a part of that family. A family where the strange and supernatural were not only acknowledge but, in the case of Buffy and her friends, welcome around for really good dinner after class.

_"Eat a cookie, ease my pain?" asked Willow, as she stood in the doorway and held out the plate to Joyce._

_Joyce stared at her, head tilted slightly. "Willow, what…?"_

_"Eat a cookie, ease my pain?" Willow repeated._

_Joyce blinked, then shook her head. "Sweetie, I…"_

_Willow stared at her feet, squirming uncomfortably. "Its my fault Buffy almost got married to Spike, after all. I don't think he would have made a good son-in-law. Eat a cookie…"_

_Joyce took a cookie. As she munched on it, she looked at Willow. "Honey, what are you talking about? When did Buffy almost marry Spike?"_

_"J-Just last night," said Willow earnestly. "You mean…she hasn't told you?"_

_Buffy's mother smiled wryly. "Are you kidding? What kind of mother would I be if my daughter actually told me anything?" She took another cookie. "These are good."_

_Willow smiled proudly. "I made them myself. Y'know…like, karmic payback. For making Giles blind and Xander a demon magnet and Buffy and Spike almost get hitched, and…"_

_Joyce laughed, and smoothed back Willow's hair affectionately before leading her inside. "Well, it sounds like you've had a busy night! Might I ask_ why _you almost got my daughter married to a vampire?"_

_And, Willow had suddenly found herself with someone who would listen to and ease_ her _pain. About Oz's departure and how much it hurt. How she still sometimes cried at nights, but tried not to be too loud in case she woke Buffy._

_They talked and ate cookies, and when Willow walked out the door into the fading evening sun she finally…_ finally _…felt ready to face the world again._

Willow liked Joyce. No, Willow _loved_ Joyce. A day where Joyce smiled so motherly at her and smoothed back her bangs in that special way was a good day, no matter what else happened.

But now the impossible had happened and the world had turned on its head. The even that none of them had never dreamed could happen had happened. Joyce was normalcy. Joyce was link to real life for all of them.

Willow bit her lip, and conscienciously corrected the thought.

Joyce… _had been_ those things. Had. Past tense. No more. No longer. Past. Gone.

Just a body. No more hot chocolate or nice smiles or fixing Willow's hair.

Just a body.

"I wish I wasn't so good at grammar," she said quietly, as she and Xander and Anya waited in line to get food.

"What's that?" asked Xander, glancing over his shoulder at her.

Willow shook her head, staring at her feet. She hugged her arms, the arms in the ridiculous pink sweater, and shook her head. "Past tense is depressing."

Xander slipped an arm around her shoulders. "I hear ya. Why do you think I never paid attention in English? We have enough 'past tense' in our lives."

No more Joyce. The world had cut away the one thing that should never have been cut. The one thing she'd thought they could have. The one link to normalcy. The last link to a life as a normal girl.

It was an inconceivable thought, too huge to wrap her mind around. It was too hard for her to think of even Sunnydale as being so brutal, so brutal as to take away the one tiny little link she still had to the life of a normal girl.

It was an inconceivable thought.

No more Joyce.

Just a body.


	3. Xander

_Normal_

At this moment, at this time, they were all normal.

Normally, Xander considered himself the token "normal" of the ground. Willow and Tara had the magics. Anya and Giles had the smarts. Dawn had the "millions-of-years-old-ball-of-energy-taken-human-form" factor. And Buffy was the Slayer.

But, at this moment, at this time, they were all "normal". No special powers. No Slayer strength. No demons to fight. No way to stop or undo or fight what had happened today. They were a gang of normal human beings.

And, at the same time, acting normal made all of his friends seem strange and unfamiliar.

Xander had been noticing it all day. For the first time in years, Willow had been more concerned with what to wear than with what to cast. So concerned that she had driven herself into a nervous frenzy, almost hysterical, until Tara had sat her down and handed her an outfit and told her to put it on.

Anya was trying…trying as hard as she could, trying so hard that it clearly hurt…to be polite and tactful. It was a skill she'd never picked up, and he could tell that his girlfriend regretted it when her words offended the distressed Willow or made Buffy bite her lip and look as though she were about to burst into tears again.

Dawnie had gone reticent and quiet. She would barely speak to any of them, even though Xander knew that deep down she was desperate to talk. Just like a typical fourteen year old that _wasn't_ , say, being hunted down by a crazy Hellgoddess. She was sulky and grumpy and, therefore, acting "normal".

Giles was acting every inch the grownup, taking care of the paperwork and trying to help Buffy and Dawn keep at least a semblance of togetherness. He wasn't a Watcher, he was just an adult trying to take care of two girls he'd known since they came to Sunnydale. Xander, however, privately thought that the Watcher had probably needed some time away from the choking emotions that hung over the group when they were together.

Maybe they all had, and that was why they'd broken up into bits.

Leaving Buffy there, on the couch, with no one but the quiet Tara to give solace.

Tara, if he had to admit it, was the only one not acting like herself and at the same time not acting "normal". Usually hesitant and quiet, even after the year he'd known her, she had shown such amazing level-headedness today, such an amazing ability to bring people back from the brink of panic and settle them gently back on Earth. If she was with Buffy, the wounded Slayer was in good hands.

As for Xander himself…

He supposed that he, too, was acting "normal", and at the same time not himself. He would certainly have never punched straight through a wall in any normal frame of mind.

And he no longer had the energy to be furious like Dawnie was, or miserable like Buffy. Xander Harris was numb, because the world was on its head and Joyce Summers was dead.

Like Willow, he'd wished many times to be a part of a family that had her as the mother, rather than his useless unemployed miserable spineless mother, who spent half her time drunk and the other half shouting at his father.

And, in his own weird way, he supposed that he had been a part of the Summers family. As had Willow and Giles and even the new arrivals like Tara and Anya. Hell, Joyce Summers had made _Spike_ a part of the extended Summers clan, and not even the family member that you locked up in the attic when respectable company came over.

Xander knew that he would love those memories and carry them with him throughout his life, however short it proved to be here on the Hellmouth. Cherish those two Christmases when he'd actually stayed indoors, with a roof over his head and real Christmas dinner food in his stomach.

But, at the same time, he knew it was those same memories that had been cutting each and every one of them deeply over the course of this nightmare of a day, leaving scars across their hearts that would never heal. Those happy memories were the reason Willow was going hysterical and Anya was trying to be polite.

The world was on its head and _his_ mother was dead. For once, he was on equal footing with his friends because they were all powerless to fight what had happened.

And Xander wished that they were strange again, even if he went back to being the token "normal". He wished that they were strange because when they were strange they were powerful, and when they were powerful they wouldn't be milling around here like disaster victims with nowhere to go and nothing to do to make things better. Giles would find a demon to fight and Buffy would grab her battleaxe and they would go save the day and make Joyce live, and she'd make dinner and they'd talk and laugh and they wouldn't be milling around in the morgue like disaster victims. Buffy would crack jokes and Willow would be offering helpful magical suggestions and Dawn would be begging to come and Tara…would probably still be Tara, because she hadn't stopped being Tara throughout the day.

But he knew it was not to be. As well as being the token "normal", in many cases he was also the token "adult", in ways even Giles could not manage. He had to look at the world in an adult fashion, and the truth was that Joyce was dead and they could not change it no matter how many demons Buffy decapitated.

He could not bring _their_ mother back.

They were, today, what many of them had dreamed of being.

They were _normal_.

Xander, as they got their exorbitant amount of food and prepared to return it to Buffy, cursed Sunnydale under his breath for not only kicking them in the teeth but tearing out their hearts.

Once again.


	4. Anya

_Denial_

That night's patrol was…

Anya didn't know the word for it. She felt…good, but not good at the same time. She felt tired, but at the same time she felt satisfied. Grimly, darkly, wonderfully satisfied.

She'd leapt on the vampires and staked them mercilessly, and had even continued jamming the stake into the ground as her victims turned to dust. She pretended that each one she went after was responsible for Joyce being gone, and that she was a demon again exacting vengeance on the woman's behalf. Each one was an unfaithful lover. Each one was Joyce's murderer. Each one got what they deserved.

She hadn't been a human for very long, but she knew how the universe was supposed to work. Bad things happened to those who deserved it. She had become a vengeance demon simply to ensure that that rule of life remained intact. And bad things were not supposed to happen to good people like Joyce. Unless they were done by bad people. And, if that happened, the bad people deserved every ounce of vengeance that turned them inside out or into an entire friend chicken. Xander had got it right when he accused Glory or the doctors, he just obviously hadn't thought of the right demon, and Willow had been silly to dissuade him and Anya had been silly to believe Willow's dissausion of Xander. If something this terrible had happened to Joyce, something equally terrible had to be responsible. That was how the world worked.

And Anya, who felt as powerful and furious as the demon she had once been, was determined to hunt it down and chop its extremities off.

At least, she was. Until, suddenly, everything switched off and when it switched back on again Xander was carrying her out of the cemetery.

"I wasn't done!" she whined.

"Anya, you fainted," said Xander gently. "You're probably wiped out. I know I am."

"Well, I'm tougher than you are," said Anya, folding her arms stubbornly. "Take me back right now."

"No."

She growled at him. "Xander…"

"No, Anya. We're going home."

"No!" Anya beat at his chest, but found that her muscles weren't working right. He barely flinched under the blows, but he did stop walking. "No, no no! Take me back right now! I'm not done yet!"

"Anya, you dusted half the cemetery!" he protested.

"I don't care! I'm not done! I didn't find the thing that killed Joyce yet!"

Xander froze. Anya, startled by this response, looked up at her and he looked back.

She saw that he looked like he was about to cry again, and the sight immediately made one of those uncomfortable egg-sized lumps appear in her throat. But she needed Xander to understand, and gripped his shirt tightly as she continued speaking:

"You…you said it, Xander…something had to have killed her…something did, because Joyce wasn't supposed to die all alone like that…it has to be _something's_ fault, and if you take me home it'll get away and laugh at us and Joyce will still be dead…"

He was crying again, and she was crying, and he was hugging her tightly, rocking her back and forth.

"Anya…Anya, I'm sorry…I'm so sorry, but…it was just an aneurism. Just an ordinary, stupid aneurism…it wasn't a demon, it was…it was just life…just life, kicking us in the teeth again."

"But that can't be right!" Anya protested. "It can't! I was supposed to make sure vengeance only happened to bad people, and Joyce wasn't a bad person! So I need to take vengeance on the one who did this to her, or the universe is going to be all tilted and not right, and…"

"Anya…" Xander whispered. He smiled, through the tears. "Oh, Anya…"

Then, he kissed her on the top of her head. "Tell you what. We'll go home, catch some z's. Then, tomorrow, we'll get Giles very best weapons and come back here to hunt down the demon. Okay?"

She nodded, wiping at her eyes. "Okay. And we'll pack lunch."

"Yeah." He started walking again, and this time she did not protest, instead letting herself get cozy in his arms and feel safe for the first time in hours and hours. "We'll pack lunch. Make a day of it. We'll find that demon, Anya, don't you worry…"

Anya suddenly found her eyelids getting heavy, but she nodded once again. "Yeah…yeah, we'll do that…and then Joyce will be okay, and she can have…" She yawned hugely. "…fruit punch…"

She was glad Xander had seen sense. She hadn't been a human for very long, but he knew how things were supposed to go. Tomorrow, things would be okay again.

With that, she was asleep.


	5. Tara

_Strong and Lonely_

"You should go to sleep."

"'m not tired."

Tara smiled and gently ran her hand through Willow's hair, spread every which-way as her lover laid with her head in Tara's lap. "Well, I'm happy I make such a good pillow."

"You do," said Willow, still with her eyes fixed on the television screen. She only broke her gaze to look up at Tara and hold a finger to her lips. "Now shush. Movie."

"Right," said Tara, covering her mouth theatrically. "Sorry."

Willow smiled up at her before returning her attention to the movie.

They sat together on Tara's bed, watching _Steel Magnolias_. It was nearly three in the morning. They'd finally left the morgue almost five hours ago, each member of the group splitting apart and going their own way to their own homes. Tara had wanted to go to sleep, but Willow had wanted to stay up, and Tara was happy to do anything she could to alleviate her love's pain after all that had happened today.

Seeing Willow…seeing _all_ of her friends hurting so deeply had cut Tara to the heart. Of course, she was sad about Joyce, so sad that her heart ached because Joyce Summers had been such a wonderful mother to all of them. But Tara…and as it turned out Tara only…knew how to deal with the pain. She knew how to take the pain and wrap it up and stow it in a little corner of her mind, to be dealt with painlessly bit by bit and day by day. She'd seen the others all collapse, in their own ways and fashions. But she had also realized, realized when she talked with Buffy alone on the bench, that she had not.

She was standing strong.

Willow had collapsed into a hysteric frenzy earlier that day, and the hole Xander had punched into the wall was still there. Giles had been calm on the outside, but Tara knew that the Watcher's control was temporary and painful, and that even putting on the act had nearly broken him. Buffy was helpless and lost, Dawn quiet and withdrawn. Anya's tearful and heartbroken speech about her lack of understanding had been painful to listen to, and had almost pushed Tara to tears herself.

But she hadn't.

For the first time, Tara was the strong one. Tara had kept it together. Tara hadn't cried.

Maybe one day, when she was older and wiser and maybe married to Willow, she would figure out how she felt about that.

"I've never seen this movie before," she said.

"'s a good movie," Willow mumbled sleepily. She paused, then continued: "…Joyce liked it. A lot. Said it was the greatest chick flick ever made."

"I agree," said Tara smoothly. "It's a very good movie."

There was more silence as they watched, and it was actually the warm and pleasant silence of two people who were happy simply to be together. Tara knew, however, that Willow's placidness and peace was more likely a product of simple exhaustion. It _was_ very late.

Tara was glad to see Willow calm again, however, no matter what the cause was. It was more than likely that this would be the last moment of peace they would be able to share together for a while. Even with all the confusion and pain that had occurred today, Tara knew from painful past experiences that more confusion and pain would come tomorrow and the next day and the next. When the funeral came, all the wounds that had opened today would bleed anew. All the happy and painful and wonderful memories they had of Joyce Summers would suddenly become painfully vivid.

She knew that this would happen…but she also knew that she would be the one, possible the only one, who would stay calm and steady in the face of all that was to come. She knew it with a detachment that only came with the loss of a loved one. She would hold her friends and comfort them, but she knew how to handle the pain of what had happened and would not cry.

It was strange being the only one able to handle what was happening, and she'd only realized how strange when she'd talked with Buffy on the bench.

" _Was it sudden?"_

" _What?"_

" _Your mother."_

" _No. And yes. It's always sudden."_

The knowledge…the honest, unavoidable knowledge…that Buffy couldn't handle things alone had knocked Tara out of the tired numbness that had plagued her all day. It had also been the strangest, scariest part of this whole horrible day.

Without thinking, she'd acted.

Without thinking, she'd made things better.

It was a strange feeling.

The credits were rolling, and Willow had fallen fast asleep. Tara very gently lifted her off and settled her on the bed. Then, she got up and padded over to her roommate's cluttered and messy chest of drawers, and pulled out the thing she'd spotted just after they'd come back home. Then, she returned to Willow and pressed the blue sweater into her hands.

Willow's eyes fluttered open, and slid to the thing in her hands. There was a moment of incomprehension, then a sleepy smile spread over her face. "You found it…you found the blue…"

"I found it," said Tara, giving her a kiss on the cheek. "You can wear it tomorrow. Before the funeral."

Willow, still smiling serenely, hugged the sweater to her like a child clutching her security blanket. "Yeah…Joyce liked the blue…maybe I can wear it to the funeral…like, under my dress. Whatdoyouthink, Tara?"

"I think that's a good idea." Tara snuggled up next to Willow, hugging her close. "You can do that. Tomorrow."

Willow shifted closer. "Nighty-night, Tara."

"Nighty-night, Willow."

Tara regretted Joyce's death. Regretted and hated it with a passion. But, in its own way, being strong for her friends was a tonic. It drowned the pain and numbed it. And what it didn't drown and numb, she could lessen on her own. Bit by bit and day by day. After things settled down, her friends would know how to do so themselves.

At the very least, that was what she hoped. Because seeing her friends in so much pain…so much ordinary, mundane, incurable pain…had been the worst part of the day by far.

So, as she began to drift off to sleep with the television mumbling on and the light flickering on her face, Tara let herself cherish this moment in time where Willow was at peace and they were safe.

Come the morning, come the pain again.

And they would suffer for it, they would bleed as they went through the motions of putting things right.

And she, Tara Maclay, alone would be strong. For them. For herself.

For the wonderful kind homey understanding perfectly amazing mother…of Buffy Summers and Willow Rosenburg, of Xander Harris and Anya Jenkins, of Dawn Summers and Tara Maclay…who would do the same.

It was a comforting thought, and Tara let it warm her as she finally succumbed to slumber.


	6. Spike

_Would Have_

Spike stalked away from the Summers' house, fuming and angry. He'd just been dismissed…not only dismissed, he'd almost been _clobbered_ …by _Xander Harris_ , whom he considered to be one of the most useless humans to ever clutter up this miserable plane of existence. In another time…a time when he didn't have this damn chip in his head…Spike would have torn his throat out for such an indignity.

But…no. Not anymore, because he loved Buffy and Buffy loved Xander and anything that upset Buffy was now off limits. _Bad dog_ , Drusilla would say teasingly, _bad dog_.

And Joyce had loved Xander, too, and even if he hadn't had this chip in his head Spike would have spared Xander if Joyce had asked.

How dare they?! How dare they so much as suggest that he hadn't cared for Joyce just because he didn't have a soul? What was the point of a soul, in any case? Did they think, just because he didn't have a soul, that he couldn't feel or love or care? He could. He'd loved Drusilla with all his cold unmoving heart until the crazy bitch had turned around and broken it. And now he loved Buffy, loved her with a passion that burned him like holy water.

In another time, those flowers might have been just a cheap stunt to win Buffy's affection. In another time, when Joyce Summers was still alive.

Maybe the ability to love was strictly the territory of those cursed with a soul, but there was one emotion Spike knew any demon or monster could possess, because he himself possessed it. That was _respect_. Any monster could _respect_ a good opponent, _respect_ a good challenge, _respect_ one of their own.

And he, Spike, a vampire who had ravaged the world for over a hundred years, had grown to _respect_ Joyce Summers. It was rare in these modern times for a girl to have class. They had looks, they had money, they had attitude, but they didn't have _class_ and she'd had it in spades. Under the frumpiness, the general aura of _motherness_ , she'd had a kind of class he thought he'd seen the last of back in the nineteenth century.

In another time and another place, like maybe the 1860s in the deep south, Joyce Summers would have been seen as quite a catch for any young man with eyes. No matter how rich or poor, the lady would have had gentleman callers by the day.

And if she'd been born in the 1920s, the very last time when this bloody awful _country_ had had some class, she would have stolen the spotlight on any number of stages, any number of theatres. She would have been the kind of actress who moved audiences to tears, who got curtain calls and standing ovations and flowers at her dressing room rather than flowers at her funeral.

If she'd been born during the 1940s…during that war, that war that was so bloody and brutal that even Angelus had been surprised at points…she would have been the public-speaker of public-speakers, the one who could have rallied armies to her cause with a well chosen speech, could have led those armies on a march to the White House and sat the President down and told him what-for. She could have stopped the war years earlier or kept it going until Germany had been nothing but a bleeding parking lot, all with a well chosen speech or a simple hand gesture.

Back before he'd had this chip when he'd been running with Dru and had been the badass killer he'd been meant to be…in other words, back before he'd gone _domestic_ …he'd hated Buffy and Dawnie even more just for being related to Joyce. He'd hated them for taking a woman that could have changed the world and keeping her chained down at home with their whining and useless problems. If she'd been born in another time and place, Joyce would have had titles like "dame" or "mademoiselle" or "lady". But, because of Buffy and Dawn, she'd simply been "mom".

And Spike would be the first to admit that he liked a woman who wasn't afraid to defend herself. He'd even enjoyed it when his meals tried to defend themselves, but only because that made it more fun. But Joyce had one hit him across the head with a fireax, for God's sake! He still had the scar. Spike liked a girl that could defend herself. That was part of why he'd adored Dru. That was part of why he adored Buffy. And that was why, for a while, he'd loved Joyce. During the long days after Dru abandoned him, he'd sometimes fantasized about turning Joyce, turning her and killing those brats she called daughters and setting their maligned mother free to live the life she deserved. But then he'd acknowledge that, however much they hurt her, Joyce Summers loved her daughters, and with the multitudes of people in the world who had pissed him off Spike would not needlessly wound her. You had to respect class. There was so little of it around these days.

And because he respected that Joyce had had class, Spike was prepared to show some class now of all times. He would not make a scene; he would acknowledge that he was unwelcome because not imposing was the classy thing to do. When another day came and when this blew over he would remember Buffy, but not right now. Now his thoughts were for Joyce. Maybe it was true that he really couldn't love, maybe it was true that his feelings for Buffy were an animal obsession rather than true passion.

But one feeling Spike knew he possessed was respect, and it had been years and years since he'd ever met anyone he could respect the way he'd respected Joyce Summers.

In another time and another place, she would have changed the world.

But, here and now, she'd withered and died, and Spike was left to brood in the shadows about how things should have been different.


	7. Giles

_Brave Ulysses_

_"So…Buffy told you she found out?" asked Joyce, as Giles stood on the doorstep of the house._

_"Ah…y-yes."_

_Joyce sighed. "I'm so sorry. I tried to stop her from reading my mind and then it just got…kind of worse."_

_"How did she take it?" he asked, dreading the answer. Buffy had seemed to take it well when she'd confronted him about it, but he suspected that he'd gotten off easy because her mood had been allieviated by causing him to walk headfirst into a tree._

_"Let's just say I' m going to be shelling out money for a therapist until_ she's _old and gray."_

_"Oh, dear…"_

_"I'll talk to her," Joyce assured him. "I'm batting a decent average with the mom-to-daughter talks. Maybe I can help things blow over a little quicker."_

_"Um…am I required to be present?" asked Giles nervously._

_"Oh, yes," said Joyce promptly. "We have to go over_ all _the details of what happened…"_

_Giles suddenly had to lean against the doorframe. "Oh my god…"_

_She smiled and put a hand on his shoulder. "I'm kidding. Don't collapse on me."_

_He exhaled heavily in relief. Then:_

_"You are an evil woman. I can see that Buffy comes by it honestly."_

_She laughed. "I choose to take that as a compliment. Oh, by the way…"_

_She pulled something off of the coat rack and held it up, and she laughed as Giles almost collapsed again at the sight of the gaudy coat he'd stolen several nights ago._

_"Think I should wear this during the talk?" she asked playfully._

_"You…you_ kept _that?"_

_"It's a nice coat," she said. "I could never have wasted the money on it in any normal frame of mind."_

_"You didn't waste the money on it anyway," Giles pointed out wryly._

_"That's true. You know, even if she gets over the critical emotional scarring…Buffy's never going to let us forget…what_ happened _that night."_

_"I have no doubt."_

_"But I guess that's how it always is." She cast him another smile, and it was the tired smile of a parent. "We parents practically exist to be made fun of, isn't that right?"_

_The statement through him for a moment…then, he returned the smile. "Yes. I suppose we do."_

_Joyce flung the coat over her shoulders. "Still…it was fun, Rupert. I'll never forget having that much fun."_

_"Yes. It was fun, Joyce. I certainly won't forget it, either."_

* * *

And now Joyce was dead, and it was the night after her funeral, and Buffy had pressed the coat into his hands and insisted he take it.

" _You thought the leaden winter would bring you down forever,  
But you rode upon a steamer to the violence of the sun."_

Before he'd realized it, suddenly the record containing "Tales of Brave Ulysses" was playing. He'd gotten home, hung the coat in his closet where he wouldn't have to look at it, and suddenly that song was playing.

Numbly, Giles poured himself some wine. He hadn't drunken anything alcoholic since last year, when he'd blacked out on most of the day despite the fact that it had involved most of the Scoobies fighting with each other.

But, right here and now, he felt he needed to be numb. He wanted to be numb.

" _And the colors of the sea blind your eyes with trembling mermaids,_  
And you touch the distant beaches with tales of brave Ulysses:  
How his naked ears were tortured by the sirens sweetly singing,  
For the sparkling waves are calling you to kiss their white laced lips."

He hurt. His head, his heart, his bones. Giles _hurt_. If he so much as blinked, he saw Buffy, standing there flustered and confused and in pain.

_"No…no, you can't…stop!_ _**We're not supposed to move the body!!** _ _"_

He had known at that moment that he would be needed. Needed as the one able to stay calm and keep things moving.

No matter how much he wanted to hide from the world and try desperately to disbelieve the events of today, of the funeral, or of yesterday when he'd found Buffy home alone with her mother's body…he couldn't. Because he was needed, and he was needed because he could be the adult.

So, if Buffy needed him, he would be the adult.

Now, for Buffy, he was the only adult left.

And now he was left to bear the small wounds in his heart, the small wounds that all parents got when their children were in danger. He was left to bear them alone, because the remarkable woman he'd bonded with was empty and dead, just a body.

Giles wished he didn't feel the same.

That night had been…fun. Reliving their teenage mentality had been an experience that had done them both good. After so long of being "the adults" of the Scooby gang, they'd spent a day in the hazy, heady, careless haze of being teenagers. Even after waking up to the mockery of "the children", which had continued for years after, they'd only look at each other and exchange embarrassed smiles before one or both would make up an excuse to leave the room.

And even past that day, they'd been…allies, of a sort. They'd shared the difficult job of being the adults to the gang of kids who had never really stopped being "the children".

Perhaps that had been why seeing them at college had been so hard. He hadn't been able to rationalize it in his head.

And maybe that was part of the reason he'd always been so…fond of Joyce. At points…more than fond.

The two adults, at the mercy of the mockery of… _their_ children.

Because it was good to know that he had an ally in a difficult job. That he wasn't the only one who worried the way he did about the growing gang of children.

To know that he wasn't the only one who suffered the small little wounds in his heart, because he had to be strong and could never, ever let on that they were there.

" _The tiny purple fishes run laughing through your fingers,  
And you want to take her with you to the hard land of the winter."_

Because, although he hoped to whatever god existed in heaven that they hadn't seen, the events of the last few days had left their own much deeper wounds on his heart and in his soul. From the moment he'd stumbled into the house to see Buffy standing there with so much pain in her eyes to now, when he was listening to their song in the peace of his own apartment after the funeral, he'd been hurting just as much as the others.

But now the one person who could understand those wounds, who could understand how much they hurt and why he could never, ever let on that they were there…was gone. The remarkable woman who had shared tea with him and who, in many ways, had taught him as much as he'd taught her daughter…was dead. Just a body, empty and dead.

" _Her name is Aphrodite and she rides a crimson shell,  
And you know you cannot leave her for you touched the distant sands  
_ _With tales of brave Ulysses; how his naked ears were tortured  
By the sirens sweetly singing._ _"_

It was just like the night when Jenny had died, but he didn't have an Angelus to hunt down in a rage. No, Giles had to stay calm and together, because he was the adult and he was the only adult Buffy and Dawn had left.

Because their wonderful mother was just a body, empty and dead.

" _The tiny purple fishes run laughing through your fingers,  
And you want to take her with you to the hard land of the winter."_

Giles wished he didn't feel the same.


	8. Buffy

_I Can't_

Giles asked me to help out at the Magic Box today.

He let me sit up in the loft where he keeps the "Do Not Read" books. He asked me to organize. But considering that he's got these books alphabetized by author, subject matter, and title…it's pretty obvious he just wants to keep an eye on me.

Love ya, Giles. I get to be up here all by myself. It's…quiet.

It's the perfect place to hide.

Hide from what?

From everything.

I was such an idiot in high school.

I was such an idiot in college.

What was I thinking when I kept on asking for "a normal life"?

In high school, when I griped to Giles or to Mom or to Will and Xander about wanting "a normal life"…I was dreaming about getting to bed at a halfway decent hour. I was dreaming of going to the Bronze to hang out without having to worry about my boyfriend killing half the student body. I was dreaming of going to Prom without having to kill a pack of Hellhounds on the way. I was dreaming about making some new friends and having a social life and getting my picture in the yearbook!

In college…I was dreaming about passing my classes and getting a new guy. When I got a new guy, I just wanted to be as normal around him as possible. Y'know, go on dates that didn't involve misty graveyards and demons trying to rip my limbs off. And then, when things fell apart with my friends…my best friends…I just wanted things to be like they were again in high school!

But this…this…is real life. Merciless. Hard. Unfair. Ripping away what you love and care about and leaving you with nothing but hurt in your heart.

My mother is dead.

And now I get what I've always wanted.

A normal life.

Normal people don't graduate from college. Normal people have to get nine-to-five jobs and pay bills. Normal people have to spend their lives take care of family members that legally aren't allowed to take care of themselves.

I know this scares Dawn as much as it scares me. God, she's so scared of what's to come that she tried to undo it all and bring Mom back.

And for a minute…when I heard that knock at the door last night…I was ready to let her.

To top it all off, I get to be normal while coping with my oh-so-not-normal late night gig. The vampires and the demons don't care how much I hurt. Everyone's been amazing, taking up the slack for me. That's making things so much easier, but I can't let them keep it up.

They're getting hurt for it.

But they're my safety net. My wonderful, wonderful safety net.

The thought confused me for a second…but it made sense. A sad, pathetic kind of sense. Because they knew how much Dawnie and I were hurting, everybody's been trying to fill the gap. Do all the chores I knew I have to take up sooner or later.

They've been trying to take care of me.

And I know I can't let them keep it up. I can't use them like that.

No matter how much it hurts…they'll have to stop, and soon.

And…then what? What do I do?

I was scared. Put me up against the Mayor again with nothing but a stake in my hand. I'll face him without a word if it means I can get out of my new normal life.

I can't do this anymore. Facing Glory would almost be better than this.

Someone softly called my name. I looked up, startled, but it was only Giles standing on the ladder.

"Um…" he began.

I forced a smile. Gotta look tough.

I have to let them believe I can do this.

"What's up?" I asked.

He gestured a little helplessly back towards the store. "Actually…things are slowing down a bit, so I wanted to get the books on the table put away…"

"Need a hand?"

He tweaked his glasses with a free hand, looking nervous. I took that as his own don't-wanna-upset-Buffy version of a "yes". I got to my feet, and followed him back down to the ground. Letting my thoughts wander, I helped him put the piles of books back where they belonged.

I got through it until we were nearly done. My head felt cursed-beer-drunk.

It was only when I was slipping the last book onto the shelf that the thought stabbed me like a knife.

I can't do this.

The awful certainty of it made my head spin, and before I knew it I was back at the table with my head resting on my arms.

I can't do this. I can't handle all of this. Bills and jobs and housework and patrol and vampires and training and Glory…

Just thinking the name made me shudder. Yeah. Life just hadn't had enough of playing kick-the-Buffy. Not only did I have to be a regular human being, but despite everything that had happened to me I still had to be the Slayer and protect the Key…

…Dawn…

A new certainly formed in my mind. One I suddenly knew had been coming ever since Dawn had hocus-pocused her way into my life.

I want this over.

I want this done.

I don't care how it ends, but I want this to end. I want an end to this fear. I want an end to the waiting and I want an end to Glory and her games.

I don't care how. Even if she wins…

…if she wins…

If Glory won, that would be the definite end. If Glory won, Dawn would die, and Glory might not want any more to do with me or my friends. No more Hellgod.

No more Dawn.

Dead Dawn.

Dead sister, just a few days after dead mother.

No more mother to worry about lying to.

No more sister to worry about protecting.

And I get to put real life off for a little while longer. If Dawn died, it would rip me up all over again…no matter what, she's my sister…but my friends might all still live, and they would help me get through the pain. They would take care of me for a little while longer…and the pain would pass, and…maybe things would be better for it.

Someone's hand was on my shoulder. I looked up, and this time both Giles' and Anya's face came into view.

"You're…you're scaring people," Anya pointed out quietly.

"Are you all right?" Giles asked just as quietly.

"Y-Yeah," I managed. I shook my head a little. I suddenly wanted those thoughts gone. In front of my friends, just having them in my head made me feel ashamed. They'd give their lives to protect Dawn. I'm related to her, and I'm probably the only one wavering. "I just…didn't sleep well last night."

Giles touched Anya on the arm. They drew back a little from me and had a very quick conversation.

"Half an hours, tops?" Anya asked. Giles nodded.

"Okay…" she continued. "…but I hold no responsibility for special orders. I still have scars from that mummy hand in the cellar."

"Half an hour," Giles assured her. He glanced at me. "Buffy, perhaps you should get home for now…some sleep will probably help enormously…"

Love ya, Anya.

Love ya, Giles.

He drove me home, and kept casting me so many worried looks that I was afraid we'd get into a wreck. But I was too busy with my own thoughts to tell him to cut it out.

That entire line of thought I'd had before being snapped out of it was something I knew I should be ashamed of. And I was, oh dear god I was. Dawn was my sister. The only Summer I had left. My sister. My blood.

But no matter how much I reassured myself that I would…I had to…protect Dawnie, come what may, I could not get rid of that new little voice in my head.

I can't do this.


End file.
